


Peace (and how to find it)

by Olos



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gandalf is lowkey disaster dad, Gen, Mild Self Harm, Nightmares, Self-Worth Issues, Teen Angst, Very Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olos/pseuds/Olos





	Peace (and how to find it)

It is perhaps 9 in the evening when I get back to our residence, arms laden with scrolls, aged parchments, extra candles and tomorrow’s breakfast. After dumping all my arm load unceremoniously onto the dining table, I straighten up and look around for Pippin. He is not in the room.

“Pippin?” I call softly. There is no response. I start to search the place, confused. 

_Where is he? He should have gotten back by now, unless something went-_ I squash that thought down.

I walk into the bedroom and find the hobbit curled under the blankets of the bed, sleeping silently. Relief washes over me-I do not have the time to find a lost hobbit lose in Minas Tirith right now- and I smile, and go back to the table, organize the pile I left, light some candles and start pouring over the scrolls.

I read about Sauron’s past strategies for sieges, any past assaults on Gondorian cities to figure out how I can best function once the fighting starts, any and all law codes on how the country deals with inane leaders, and the architecture of Minas Tirith herself, to see where the worst fighting will probably happen, where any weaknesses are, and where any secret exits are in case everything comes crashing down and I need to send Pippin and anyone else to safety.

I begin to focus more heavily on the legal code, fearing that if Denethor’s hope fails, he will not command his soldiers, or even force anyone who would to stop, perhaps with force, meaning I must to find a way, preferably within the law, to remove Denethor from the Steward’s seat if I have to. 

_It might be easier to get him off the seat now so there are no issues with him raising serious barriers to getting Estel crowned, presuming everything works out,_ I muse, eyes un-focusing from the frankly confusingly worded laws for a moment.

I blink back into focus and finish off the scroll, once again finding nothing useful. 

Suddenly, I realize that even if I can do something about Denethor, I have no solid candidate with who to replace him with. Estel’s fate and location is unknown, I cannot burden Theoden with two armies if I can help it, even if he gets here on time, Prince Imrahil may be too loyal to his kinfolk to go along with a coup, Boromir is very much dead, and Faramir being off in Osgiliath means he cannot be a part, and he might be too loyal anyway.

 _Unless I want to make the leap for Imrahil, the only candidate here, the only other candidate would be myself,_ I conclude. The thought scares me, as even though I consciously know I am probably the best option, the idea of having the power of a lord, being addressed as lord, goes against not only the codes given to me by the Valar as I set off, but also my own fears of falling to power and becoming corrupt and cruel and forgetting why I am here.

 _No, it is better for everyone if I am the last resort,_ I decide.

With kinship in mind, the logical two choices are Imrahil, further distant but here and an able lord himself, and Faramir, heir to Denethor in his own right but presently not here, and cannot be counted on coming back.

“Will Imrahil work with me?” I mutter. “And where is Faramir?” I ask, this time far too loudly.

 _Now you have gone and woke Pippin from what precious little sleep he will get!_ I chastise myself, and absently my right hand slips up my left sleeve and begins to pick at the skin there. For a moment I dig deeper and into the sting, but I pause when some small part of my finger is dampened.

 _No, I cannot afford to lose blood to this now, no matter how well deserved,_ I think sternly, taking my hand back out.

I go back to my scrolls, but after a moment a sudden gust blows in though the small gap in the shutters, violently rippling the curtain to Pippin’s room and making the candles flicker wildly. I shiver, rub my hands on my arms, and get up and retrieve a blown away scroll.

After retrieving the scroll, I find myself pacing in short strides.

I sigh, expelling much air from my lungs and mutter, “When will Faramir return?”

“Hullo!” Says a voice, and surprised I turn around to see Pippin’s head peeking around the curtain to his room. “I thought you had forgotten all about me. I am glad to see you back. It has been a long day,” he continues.

“But the night will be too short,” I say in return, “I have come back here, for I must have a little peace, alone. You should sleep, in a bed while you still may. At the sunrise I shall take you to the Lord Denethor again. No, when the summons comes, not at sunrise. The Darkness has begun. There will be no dawn.”

Pippin looks mildly sad but retracts his head and pads back to bed.

Knowing I will get no peace at all, I return to my scrolls.

/

It is perhaps midnight when the something clangs loudly in the distance, and the first soft whimper reaches my ears.

 _Oh Elbereth, do not let Pippin get sick_ now, _I cannot deal with it,_ I think.

But nonetheless I am Pippin’s guardian at the present, and thus it is up to me to check up on him.

“Pippin? Are you alright?” I call gently.

“‘M alright,” comes the groggy and trembling response, followed up by a noise of dismay when his voice fails to prove his assertion.

I walk into his room and sit on the edge of his bed.

“What troubles you?” I reach out to him, but he turns away and crosses his arms over his chest.

“No!” He says, sounding like a petulant child.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” His voice cracks badly. “I don’t want to! I should be strong, stronger than this!”

“Pippin…” I begin.

“I can’t cry! I should be strong!”

“And why might that be?” I enquire.

“I’m in service to the Steward! I need to be big and a warrior and strong like-like Boromir!” He finishes, throwing his hands up. “I need to be strong…” He repeats, more to himself, and begins to swat at the flat of his ankle.

Knowing it is hypocritical of myself, I take his wrist in my hand and still it. “No,” I tell him firmly, and his chin quivers for a moment and he looks at me reproachfully.

“Now Pippin, you are very strong but you cannot be strong all the time. It is simply not possible.”

He looks conflicted, but rallies. “I don’t care if it is possible or not! I have to be strong all the time now!” His voice trembles and very nearly breaks. His breathing picks up, shallower now, and now I worry he will panic and lose any precious sleep and recovery time he could get.

He hides his face from me, and I must act now.

“Pippin, come here,” I coax.

“No, I’m strong, I don’t need you,” he says, but he’s not convinced of that.

“Well come here anyway. You do not have to do anything but I tell you that you must sit here,” I say, now sitting cross legged on the bed and scooping the presently joyless hobbit into the bowl of my lap, my arms encircling him as a way to prevent escape.

At first he does not do anything, merely sitting there, struggling with himself.

“It is alright, you do not have to be strong now,” I say softly.

Ever so hesitantly he turns his face and hides it now in my chest. I pull my arms closer around him.

After a moment he’s trembling with the effort of not crying.

I very gently lean down and kiss the crown of his head, and that convinces him. He wraps his arms tight around me and with one last tremble, a sniffle and a whimper he starts sobbing loudly and brokenly into me, soaking the front of my robe.

I find myself swaying side to side as I hold tighter to him, soothing the both of us, and once I must gently thump his back to dislodge some distressing spittle or snot.

Slowly, slowly, he quiets, wails turning to sniffles and hiccups, and I loosen my hold.

“What was that for, hmm?” I ask gently.

“I had a nightmare,” he says tremulously, quickly, “and something scared me out of it, and I just felt frightened and small, and I needed to cry but I feel-felt weak doing so.”  
“I understand, but you have cried, and I hope that has helped, yes?”

He nods, and a watery smile flickers on his face for a moment.

“Do you know what woke me?” He asks.

“Just before I was aware of your waking, there was some loud bang, far off,” I explain, “But what ever it was it will not hurt you.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, having clearly caught the implied protection.

He sneezes softly, and turns to me with tear filled eyes.

“I don’t want to die,” he says in the smallest voice possible.

“Shh, so long as I have a hand in it, you will not die.” I pull him back in.

“Please don’t go die for me…” he trails off, a tear sliding down his cheek.

I do not have the heart to tell him I already, partially at least, have.

“…again, I guess.” He finishes, thinking despite his distress.

Oh.

“Well, I cannot promise that I will not give myself up so you, or others can live,” I admit, because it is my duty, as I see it, to do so, and I have already, and seeing as I am ignoring willfully all of Lady Nienna’s advice on self-preservation, save perhaps her advice on being social, to help right the world, I am sacrificing myself again already.

Pippin swats at my chest, clearly annoyed at me, and I let him, largely because it keeps me alert.

“I can, however, promise you that I will not throw myself in harm’s way lightly. I will not die for you unless I see no other choice,” I continue.

Pippin sniffles, and sighs sadly.

“I guess that’s the best I’ll get from you,” he muses, voice shaking. Another tear falls.

“I am afraid it is, I am sorry I cannot offer any better,” I console, starting to rub his back.

He sniffles again and curls back into me, and I find myself rocking, slowly, back and forth, and eventually he relaxes in my arms and his head begins to slump into my right upper arm.

Carefully, I adjust him so he is cradled in my arms, dozing, peaceful. I let out a sigh of relief.

I stand and begin the business of tucking the lad to bed, laying him down, pulling the covers up around him, making sure his head is pillowed and that he lies naturally.

Even after that task is done, I sit on his bedside, and find myself brushing the curly hair from his forehead and smoothing invisible wrinkles in the covers.

 _I wish I hadn’t brought him,_ I thought sadly, _he is, perhaps, too young after all. But it is too late to turn him back now. All I can do is protect him._ I conclude.  
I suddenly find myself fighting the want, the need, to curl around the delicate hobbit, to protect him from what lurks in in the night, in the waking world or his sleeping one.

 _But no, I cannot,_ I reason to myself, _I would fall asleep and then be of no use to anyone, no matter how much I may want to sleep or protect Pippin like that I mustn’t. I would be shirking my duty._

It is a terrible test of will, but I manage to get up, and leave Pippin’s room and go back to my scrolls. I find it hard to focus on reading, my eyes losing focus or my mind slipping off to other thoughts.  
I find myself picking at my arm again, but to little avail.

 _I must stay up, I must study these,_ I think.

I find focusing nearly impossible, my eyes burning and mind foggy.

 _Why am I so lazy, I cannot focus on reading, what is wrong with me?_ I berate myself, fingers again drawing a droplet of blood on the opposite wrist.

I feel my head is made out of metal, and that my eyelids have been weighted down with great stones.

 _I must stay awake, I must stay awake!_ I think desperately.

 _But perhaps…I could just put my head down, just for a minute,_ I think, _Five minutes of head down won’t make me fall asleep, would it?_

 _But I cannot rest!_ I argue, desperation now clouded behind the fog in my mind, _I cannot! If I do I will fail my task!_

 _Five minutes…_ I coax.

My head slumps, unbidden to the table, cushioned dubiously by scrolls. My eyes slide shut.

_Just for a moment, just for a…_

/

“Mithrandir? Peregrin?” Calls a voice, startling me from my accidental sleep.

I shake myself and take a second to make myself not look like I had just been dozing.

I go to meet the summons.

“Peregrin is asleep right now, what would you have him do?” I ask.

“He is summoned. Have him report to Lord Denethor as soon as he is able to.” With that, the messenger leaves, probably off to snatch more sleep.

I sigh, and take a moment to blink fully awake, before going to wake Pippin.


End file.
